


Aiming for the stars

by YouCould



Category: Roswell New Mexico (TV 2019)
Genre: Alex & Maria are besties, Alex has dyscalculia because why not, First Kiss, Fluff, High School, I just wrote the same fic that everyone else has written except 2 weeks later, M/M, it's just the kiss at the museum guys, mentions of Michael's shit foster care experience
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-08
Updated: 2019-02-08
Packaged: 2019-10-24 13:54:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17705501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YouCould/pseuds/YouCould
Summary: So he’d smiled at Alex, and then they’d talked. Alex had told him about his father, how he was always demanding for more and more and more, and how in Roswell he felt constantly observed, his every action watched and dissected. And, almost in spite of himself, Michael had told him about the Averys, about the house that constantly reeked of smoke, and how the only way he survived it was running away at night to look at the stars.A few days later, Michael had run into Alex again. And again and again and again and again, until it had become a thing that they did, seeing each other at night and confessing the things that they wouldn’t have during the day, when darkness and the stars would hold them safe.





	Aiming for the stars

**Author's Note:**

> So, tumblr user @thediamondsheart posted an headcanon for this on tumblr, and it was just too good not to use. So thanks for that!  
> Just a reminder, English is not my first language so please be nice to me!

Michael finishes the exercise in about five minutes, most of which are spent more writing down the process than actually having to think it through. Everyone else in the class is still staring down at their notes, trying to figure out whatever combination of formulas will give them the answer, and Michael is already bored out of his skin. No big deal, he’s always bored in physics, which he supposes is, at the end of the day, a good thing. If he keeps acing through AP Physics at the same rate he’s been on since the start of the year, he’s definitely going to get a scholarship for whatever college he picks, and then he can be out of here. He can be studying the stars, find out the truth about where he comes from, maybe about who he is. Michael shakes his head, runs his hands through his hair to chase the thought away. What fifteen years in foster care have taught him is that there is no point in getting lost in dreams, in constantly hoping for the best case scenario. Now, keeping his grades as far above the national average as he can. Then, applying for college. Then, assuming that all those things go well, maybe, just maybe, find out everything he’s always been desperate to know. But there’s no point in thinking about that now, so Michael just looks down at his exercise again, trying to figure out if there’s anything he might have gotten wrong but – no, he’s definitely right, just too quick for everyone else in the class.

“Are you already finished, Michael?” Mrs Lopez, the physics teacher, asks as she approaches his desk. She’s a nice old lady, with white hair constantly tied in a bun that contrasts with her light brown skin, and eyes that despite the wrinkles that frame them are surprisingly aware behind red-rimmed glasses. Michael likes her well enough, he supposes. She likes her subject, and sometimes lets him fuck around until late in the science lab when he doesn’t feel like he can handle going back home.

He nods and silently hands her the piece of paper where he wrote the exercise down, and she only gives it a brief look before smiling softly.

“Very good, Michael,” she says, and then adds, perhaps sensing his restlessness. “Can I possibly get you to do some photocopies for me while we wait for the others? They are for the school trip tomorrow.”

“Sure,” he stands up quickly, glad for the chance to stretch his legs and do something that will keep his mind occupied for at least a few minutes. Smile wrinkles appear on her face and she walks him to her desk, where she hands him a single sheet of paper with basic information for tomorrow’s visit.

“Are you still sure you don’t want to come?” She asks, her lips curved slightly downward.

“I’m a sceptic, Mrs Lopez,” Michael shrugs, struggling not to laugh at the paper. The title reads, in bold, _School visit to the newly open International UFO Museum of Roswell._

“Of course, if you say so,” Mrs Lopez says, but her tone doesn’t actually sound convinced, which Michael supposes is fair. The truth is, he’d actually like to go (if nothing else, it’d be funny), but he definitely has no money to spare, and there is no way that the family he’s staying with right now, the Averys, will pay for his ticket. Isobel and Max are going and have offered to pay for his ticket, but he refuses to accept their charity.

Michael gives her a brief smile, the one that he’s learned tends to get people off his back, and heads out of the class with the sheet.

He takes his time with the copies, checking multiple times that the printer is working, mostly just to avoid having to get back to the class too early. When he eventually decides that it’s time to start walking back, he barely gets halfway to his class before a voice calling his name holds him in his place.

“Hey, Guerin!” Despite himself, Michael feels a smile slowly growing on his face. He turns around and there, walking towards him in the middle of the corridor, is Alex Manes, a corner of his lips turned upwards and hair falling in front of his eyes. He furrows his brow when his eyes meet Alex, his expression halfway between amused and disconcerted. “What are you doing out here?”

Michael shakes his head, looking down. “You?” He asks looking back up at him.

“I…” Alex falters for a second. “Maths. I just couldn’t.”

Michael doesn’t say anything, just recalls an evening a few months ago, when whatever his – friendship with Alex is, had just started. It’s easy to remember, because for most of the time Michael had been living in Roswell, he and Alex had never really spoken to each other. Not for any specific reason, it was just that it was difficult to see how Alex Manes, son of the esteemed Sergeant Manes, would have anything to do with Michael Guerin, the orphan kid who seemed to always come from a different broken home and spent his time studying obsessively, aiming for the stars. The first time Michael and Alex had really spoken had been just a handful of months earlier, on a night that the Averys’ house had gotten too suffocating and Michael had sneaked out in the middle of the night, hoping to get to Foster Homestead Ranch. Instead, he’d basically crashed into Alex, who was running alone at night, his breathing heavy with fatigue.

“Guerin,” Alex had huffed out. “Didn’t see you there.”

Michael had considered giving him a sharp reply and leaving, but there had been something in the way Alex was holding himself that had stopped him, and he’d just stared silently for a few seconds.

“What are you doing out here?” Alex had asked eventually, raising an eyebrow.

“Needed some air. That house is suffocating,” Michael had replied without thinking, before managing to think of some clever lie that would push Alex away. And then, to his surprise, Alex had smiled, and then let out a breathy laugh.

“Yeah, I get you,” he’d said, and in that moment, Michael had recognised the tension in Alex’s shoulders: it was the same he’d seen in himself so many times, when the house and the school and the town itself felt too small and left him asphyxiated. So he’d smiled at Alex, and then they’d talked. Alex had told him about his father, how he was always demanding for more and more and more, and how in Roswell he felt constantly observed, his every action watched and dissected. And, almost in spite of himself, Michael had told him about the Averys, about the house that constantly reeked of smoke, and how the only way he survived it was running away at night to look at the stars.

A few days later, Michael had run into Alex again. And again and again and again and again, until it had become a thing that they did, seeing each other at night and confessing the things that they wouldn’t have during the day, when darkness and the stars would hold them safe. It had been just a few nights later that Alex had confessed that that first night, he’d ran out because his father had been on his back about his constantly failing maths grade.

“The worst part is, it’s not that I’m not trying. It’s just,” he’d bitten his lip, looking away from Michael, “I look at the numbers and they just… they are all over the place, they make no sense.”

“Have you told your father?”

“Even if I did…” Alex had shook his head, “even if I did, it would just go add to the pile of things that are wrong with his youngest son,” his voice sounded bitter, like pronouncing the words was physically hurting him, “you know, Alex, who doesn’t want to join the army like everyone else, Alex that runs out at night, Alex who is too stupid not to fail maths, Alex who…” he stopped talking. When Michael had turned to him, he could see his chest was heaving, and his hands were clenched into fists.

“If I thought you were stupid,” he’d said slowly, “I wouldn’t be talking to you. And as for everything else, I think that the military is an overrated career. You’re doing just fine.”

Alex had laughed then, and Michael had found himself smiling as well.

Now, he just shrugs, giving Alex what he hopes comes off as a _that’s fair_ face.

“Why are _you_ out?” Alex asks. “You never skip class.”

Michael waves the papers in front of his face. “Not skipping,” he says.

Alex snorts once he manages to get a glimpse of the sheet. “Of course, the visit to the alien museum. Are you going?”

Michael scoffs, raising his eyebrows at him. “You think I have the money to spend on a visit to a museum about alien conspiracies?” It’s such a shame that the irony of this is lost on Alex, Michael thinks. The museum would very much let him in for free if they knew the truth about who he was. Probably keep him locked in forever, but hey, pros and cons.

“That’s fair,” Alex nods, “I was supposed to go, but my father’s definitely not going to let me once he finds out I’ve skipped class, so that makes two of us. Shame, though. It sounded hilarious.”

“ _Alex Manes,_ ” Michael says, making sure that his tone comes off as affronted and dramatic as possible, “you think alien conspiracies are _funny?_ Shame on you. I am _personally offended.”_ Once again, Michael thinks, it’s just such a shame that Alex can’t appreciate the irony.

Alex laughs. “God, I’m sorry,” he raises his hands in surrender. He bites his lip as he does so, and his eyes lock with Michael’s for just a second too long. Michael’s stomach contracts almost pleasantly, and he swallows as Alex looks away and inhales loudly.

“I’ll let you get back to class, Guerin,” Alex says, carefully not looking at him. “Don’t want to ruin your Ivy League future. But I will see you around.”

***

When school ends, it only takes Alex a minute of consideration to decide whether he should go home or not. His father has surely already found out that he skipped his maths class today, and Alex isn’t ready to deal with that just yet, so he finds Maria in the parking lot and asks, without preambles, “Can I crash your place for a few hours?”

She raises her eyebrows at him, halfway between amused and concerned. “Sure,” she says. “But I do have work to do, so I’m going to have to ignore you for a bit.” She considers this for a second, then adds, “Actually, can you play the guitar for me? It’s good for focus.”

Alex shrugs. “Of course. I’ll improvise you a concert.”

She smiles, and gestures for him to get into her car.

A few hours and several songs later, Maria looks up from her homework, letting her hair loose from the messy bun that she’d been holding together with a pencil.

“Has Liz told you that her and Kyle are an actual thing now?” She asks, raising an eyebrow at him.

“No,” Alex shakes his head, “but that would explain why Max Evans has been looking like a kicked puppy all of this week.”

“Poor guy,” Maria sighs, looking down. “He’s just not having a good time.” She shrugs. “Then again, I guess they’ll get there at some point. Might take them a decade, but…” she gestures vaguely, then looks back up at Alex, gives him a hard, pointed stare. “What about you?” She asks, raising her pitch. “Any guy caught your eye?”

Alex groans, letting himself fall back on her bed. “Why do we have to do this every time we hang out?” He asks, staring at the ceiling.

“Because I’m your friend, and I care about you?”

Alex sighs, carefully not looking at her. He doesn’t want to tell her about Michael Guerin, about how he never feels as listened to as he does when they’re confessing secrets to each other under the stars, or about how the nights when he spends sitting in the desert with Michael, sharing the same blanket and talking endlessly, are the only times he feels truly and completely himself. He doesn’t want to tell her because it makes everything so real, how he’s falling hard and fast for _Michael Guerin_ of all people, who is basically the personification of not just a match but a whole damn fire, who is stupidly smart and has big college dreams and who, on top of all of that, is probably straight, so what’s even the point anyway. He doesn’t want to tell Maria, and at the same time he’s bursting with the desire to tell her, because it’s _so much_ and Alex thinks he might explode if he doesn’t tell someone.

He settles for, “There might be someone.”

“Oh my god!” Maria jumps up and comes to sit down next to him on the bed. “Spill. Do I know him? Who is it? Is he cute? How did you meet? What’s he like? I want to know _everything._ ”

Alex sighs, finally looking at her. She’s practically beaming with excitement, and his heart contracts a little bit, because he knows that she’s one of the only people who’d react like this to him talking about a guy, and he’s so lucky to have her.

“I’m not going to tell you who he is,” he says, and ignores her sound of protest, “but we sort of met by accident, and he is…” he struggles, trying to find a way to describe Michael to Maria, “he is surprising. He acts kind of tough, but he’s actually… very sweet. And yes, he’s very hot.” He thinks of curls and green eyes and _curls_ and yep. Hot.

“Are you going to ask him out?” Maria asks, excitedly tapping on the bed.

“What? No.” Alex jumps up, coming to face her. “I don’t even know if he’s into guys.”

Michael knows Alex is gay, he knows because Alex told him one night when his father had asked him if he had a girlfriend and he’d gotten so nervous that he’d found an excuse and ran out. Michael had smiled, muttered _that’s cool_ under his breath and then given him a _look_ that even months later, Alex hasn’t managed to decipher.

“You know what a good way to find out would be?” Maria says, gripping Alex’s shoulders.  “Asking him out.”

“That’s not happening,” Alex mutters, avoiding her gaze. “Even if he was, he wants to leave, and so do I. What’s the point?”

“Alex,” Maria’s voice softens, and she cups his cheeks with her hands. Her eyes are looking carefully into his, clouded with concern. “Don’t deny yourself happiness. You deserve it.”

Alex looks away. “I’m not. I just…” there is no words to explain the tiring, nagging shame that’s always at the back of his stomach, that accompanies the joy and euphoria every time Michael smiles at him. “I just can’t.”

“I know,” Maria whispers, and pulls him into a hug, and that’s that.

***

Michael’s only been home for about two hours, and he’s already fed up. The Averys aren’t the worst family he’s had, but the bar is so low that it hardly counts for anything. Jonas and Maureen are both 40-something (Michael doesn’t care enough to actually memorise it), they have no children, and their house is a constant cloud of smoke. That’s because Maureen, after working mornings bleaching hair of rich middle aged women in a salon, comes back early in the afternoon and starts smoking, without stopping, for hours and hours. Jonas supposedly works as a server in a diner, but Michael has no idea whether that’s actually true, because he generally rolls himself out of bed long after Michael has gone to school, and comes back later than any diner would be open, carrying with him only the stench of alcohol. They ignore Michael for the most part, as long as he makes sure that the house stays clean and liveable and doesn’t give too many signs of his presence. Overall, he doesn’t mind. Overall, it’s better than being used as a punching bag whenever Brad from three years ago is in a bad mood, it’s better than hiding upstairs while he calls civil services because Ronald, from only a year ago, is beating his wife _again,_ overall it’s better than when his foster brother Marcus (about five years ago now) would force him to do whatever he wanted _or else._ No, overall it isn’t that bad, but Michael is months away from turning eighteen and he’s so close to being free from all of this that the nights when he feels like he can barely breathe because of the smoke feel somehow worse than anything else he’s gone through.

So he runs away at night, and breathes in the fresh air and looks at the stars and sometimes runs into Alex, and tells him the things he doesn’t tell anyone, and sometimes Alex will bring his guitar and slowly teach him to play until Michael’s chest doesn’t feel so heavy anymore.

Tonight isn’t any different, and as soon as he realises that if he has to keep breathing in the smoke he will, unashamedly, break down, he grabs his jacket and runs out the door, the sky already dark blue with the night. He gives himself a few moments to decide what to do. He could try to hitch a ride to Foster Ranch, spend the night staring at the sky and wondering if he will ever make it home, not the Avery’s house, but his real home, somewhere in the deep dark universe. That’s his safe go-to, but this morning’s conversation has left him with a sort of longing that he can’t quite explain, so instead he heads to the outskirts of town, to the opening of a field that has somehow become the spot where he meets up with Alex. He tries not to keep his expectations too high, there is no reason why Alex should have come out just in case Michael decided to find him, but sure enough, when he gets close enough Alex is there, leaning on a fence and looking carefully at the shadows like he’s waiting for someone, and something contracts in Michael’s stomach when he realises that he’d been waiting for him.

“Hey,” Alex smiles, pushing himself up.

“Hey,” Michael gives him a nod, doing his damn best to keep his tone casual. It’s not that Michael is freaking out. Sure, Alex is cute and definitely into guys and also seems to understand Michael better than anyone, but Michael doesn’t really do crushes, so there is really no reason to be nervous.

Except, Alex says, “I was wondering if you’d show up,” and there is so much warmth in his voice that yes, maybe Michael is freaking out a little bit.

“You know me,” he says, trying to keep his tone as teasing as possible, “can never stay away for too long.”

Alex chuckles, blushes a little bit. “That’s good to know,” he says, and Michael’s heart is thumping. So what, maybe he does do stupid crushes after all. Come fight him.

“You good?” Michael asks after swallowing deeply because, like Michael, Alex wouldn’t really be running away from home if everything was happy and perfect.

“I just didn’t want to go home,” Alex breathes out, looking away from Michael, his shoulders slumping. “My father is going to kill me when he finds out I skipped class and I just needed to…” he gestures vaguely, “delay it a little bit. You?”

“The usual,” Michael shrugs. “Couldn’t breathe.” He doesn’t need to explain any further than that, because by now Alex knows him well enough by now to understand all he means by that.

“We are a mess, aren’t we?” Alex asks, halfway between a laugh and a sigh, and Michael starts laughing as well, because really, his other options are either crying or kissing Alex, and he probably shouldn’t do either of those.

“Hey, at least no class tomorrow,” Michael says, and when Alex furrows his brow in confusion he adds, “the others are on the museum trip?”

“Right,” Alex nods, his gaze darkening for a second. “Are you still not going?”

“I didn’t suddenly find the money in a bush,” Michael’s voice comes out sharper than intended, “and if I had, I can’t afford to spend it on a museum about aliens.” He lets his voice soften. “Although I will say, it would have been funny.”

He stops talking, because Alex is sort of giving him a look, his eyes shining with the excitement of whatever he’s going to say next.

“You know what we could do?”

Michael is almost certain of what he’s going to suggest, and he’s already smiling at the thought, but nonetheless, he asks, “What?”

“We could go right now.”

“Break in?” Michael smiles.

“Yeah,” Alex smiles back.

“Our own school trip?” Michael doesn’t even try to stop himself from beaming. “I like it.”

***

Alex takes care of picking the lock to the museum’s side entrance, which is probably going to cause a whole load of questions tomorrow, which is too bad because neither Michael nor Alex will be there to answer. Alex holds the door open for Michael and then gives him a little butler-like bow, and Michael can’t help but smile, and then smile a bit more because one hour ago he was suffocating in a house that reeked like a prison and now he’s on a night adventure, with… whoever Alex is to him. Whatever has to happen will happen, Michael tells himself, and tries not to think about it too much.

“I’m just starting to realise that this might not be my brightest idea,” Alex says once they are both inside, into what looks to be the gift shop. “They probably have cameras here.”

“It’s alright, I’ll hack them later,” Michael shrugs. It’s an easy enough lie, because if he wanted to, he could definitely do that, and Alex knows it. But instead, Michael focuses for an instant, lets his mind find the wires and circuits that control the security cameras and, exhaling deeply, turns them all off at once. It sort of bugs him, that he’s lying to Alex about this, but that’s another thing he tries not to think about too much.

Instead, he picks up an alien shaped plushie with a tall green head and large black eyes and says, in a high pitched voice, “Careful, Alex Manes! You’ve been caught trespassing on alien property!”

Alex laughs. “You’re an idiot,” he says, shaking his head and making a move for the plushie. His fingers lightly brush Michael’s as he takes it from his hands, and their eyes lock for just a second too long. Michael’s breath catches in his throat.

“Right, we should probably move along,” Alex says, and looks away. His voice sounds hoarse. “We probably shouldn’t be here too long.”

***

The museum is really, _really_ stupid, but Michael seems to be finding it particularly hilarious, which means that Alex is also having a genuinely great time. He’s also been saluting dramatically at every alien statue they find (no, really, there is _so many)_ , which Alex finds ridiculously funny, but he can’t tell if it’s because it’s actually that entertaining or if it’s just Michael’s presence that’s making it look brilliant. To be fair, Alex reasons to himself, it was worth breaking into this place just to hear Michael’s uproarious laughter as they see less and less realistic depictions of the aliens that _totally_ landed in Roswell in 1947. As they make their way through the museum, Michael’s voice stops abruptly when they walk into a room with a mannequin reconstruction on the side: protected by a thin layer of glass, there’s a little grey alien on an operating table, with a surgeon and what looks like a man in black standing over it, near a table covered metal instruments that don’t look particularly pleasant.

“That’s a bit dramatic, don’t you think?” Alex asks.

Michael replies with a bitter smirk. “It’s realistic.”

“Still. Doesn’t mean it’s right.”

Michael gives him a long, cautious look, then shakes his head. “Come on,” he says, “let’s go look for more theories on how all the aliens come here to have tentacle orgies with humans.”

Alex lets himself laugh and follows Michael into the next room. His hand brushes Alex’s elbow as he passes him by, and Alex is suddenly out of breath. He’s an idiot, really, but his mind is still burning with the feeling of his fingers brushing Michael’s, when Alex had thought he would kiss him if he didn’t get his shit together and walked away. Yeah, he’s not doing very well at that whole ignoring your feelings thing.

The last room of the museum has a small reconstruction of tall green aliens descending off a discoidal spaceship, and a wall that says “ _do you believe in aliens?”_ in capital green letters. People have attached post-its and scraps of paper with their drawings and theories, all detailing what aliens most definitely looked like and what certainly happened in ’47.

“Do you think it was real? The UFO crash,” Alex asks, staring at the wall.

Michael snorts, but it comes out slightly more bitter than usual. “I’m not sure,” he says, and his voice sounds slightly strained. “Do you?”

“No,” Alex says, and when he turns to look at Michael, Michael is already gazing at him. “Coming from a family of veterans taught me that there aren’t many things the government isn’t able to hide. Not to sound too much like the people on that wall, but I think that a possible UFO crash is a great cover story for whatever went down there.” He stays silent for a few second, sees Michael look away from him raising his eyebrows, in a gesture of defeated agreement. “I wish it was, though,” he adds, slowly.

Michael’s head snaps back to him, his brow furrowed. “Why?”

“It’s just… comforting, you know?” Alex starts, carefully. He’s tried to explain this to himself so many times and never managed to, but it seems to come out naturally now that he’s talking to Michael. “Aliens are definitely out there, that’s for certain, but they’re also too far away for us to reach. And I don’t know, but that feels so lonely.” Michael is looking at him carefully now, with an expression that Alex can’t quite decipher. “I just… I want to believe that they’re out there, looking for us. To save us from ourselves.” As soon as the words live his mouth, Alex grimaces. “I just realised how damn edgy that sounds.”

“No,” Michael shakes his head, his face still unreadable. “It doesn’t.”

And then Alex sort of loses touch with anything that’s happening around him, because Michael has taken a step forward and pressed his lips to Alex’s, his hands cupping his face. There’s a moment in which Alex just doesn’t react at all, and has to use all of his concentration to avoid just falling down in confusion, and then suddenly he’s kissing back and running his hands through Michael’s hair, and for a few seconds, just for a few seconds, everything feels right.

Michael is the first to pull apart, and Alex suddenly worries that he’s messed something up, but Michael is grinning and his eyes are shining as he wraps his hands around Alex’s neck. Alex feels himself smile back, and now they’re kissing again and there’s only Michael’s scent, his arms around Alex and their lips pressed together. As the kiss deepens, there is no tangled up numbers to worry about, there is no nagging fathers and no expectations to fulfil, no shame. There’s only Michael and the breath-taking happiness of this moment, and for now, that’s enough.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope that was half-decent, thanks for sticking to the end!  
> If you want to chat with me, you can find me on my Roswell tumblr @privateguerin, where I basically spend my days shouting about these two idiots. Also, a big shout out to everyone in the Cowboys and Aliens discord, for listening to me complain about this fic taking the fucking longest time to write!


End file.
